Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  She knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing. "Oh, dear, should I not mention him?" she asked warily.

  "I'd rather you did not."

  "Is it because of the way he treated me?"

  "In part. His actions were appalling. He was not brought up to shirk his duty, I can assure you. However, this latest mischief is not my only source of irritation. There have been other things, too..." Dinsmore frowned, for a moment appearing to be lost in old, unpleasant memories. "Suffice to say, Richard is no longer welcome in my home."

  Flora's spirits plunged. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she had assumed she would see Richard occasionally. Not that she would be party to any impropriety, it was just that she would so enjoy seeing him, if only from time to time. "Are you sure about Richard? I hate to think that I'm the cause of a rift between you."

  Lord Dinsmore's jaw set firmly. "The subject is closed," he said with cold finality.

  "Well, then." To dispel an awkward silence, she asked lightly, "What time is tea?"

  Lord Dinsmore let an uncomfortable moment of silence roll by. "You may as well know there is no time for tea. Not since Edith... You understand, I'm always busy running my estate, and such matters as tea are not of great import."

  No tea? Well, that would change, but she'd take action later, not now. "All right, but you must have a set dinnertime?"

  "Er...not exactly. Dinner is whenever I want it to be."

  "I see." She would not let him know she was shocked and horrified.... or was she? Of a certainty, her mother would be shocked and horrified. And, of course, Baker, who was bound to think an indeterminate dinner hour represented the absolute depths of sloth and disorder. She would certainly have to do something about such laxness, but for the moment she would say nothing. Not tomorrow, either, because—her heart leaped with anticipation—she was going to drive four-in-hand. Friday, perhaps. Yes, Friday.

  Striving for friendly conversation, she asked her husband, "Lord Lynd has volunteered to teach me four-in-hand, along with his sister, of course. Have you an objection?"

  "Of course not. I doubt I'll be feeling up to going tomorrow, but I will when I can. Meanwhile, be sure to invite them to dinner next Saturday night. Informal as always, of course."

  Chapter 11

  Next afternoon, Flora sensed Baker's displeasure as she stood before her full-length mirror examining her plain mud-colored riding gown and straw bonnet, unadorned except for the red ribbon tied beneath her chin. "What do you think? she asked, knowing full well what her maid would say.

  Baker's lips pursed disapprovingly. "Did you not tell me Lord Lynd and Lady Beasely are visiting this afternoon and you'll be stopping by Vernon Hill?"

  Flora nodded. That much was true. However, she had deliberately not mentioned her forthcoming lesson in four-in-hand, mainly because such juicy bits of on-dit had a peculiar way of getting back to her mother.

  "Then I must say, madam, that your attire is most unsuitable." Baker nodded toward the open wardroom where hung Flora's beautiful new gowns. "Lord Lynd and his family are of inestimable importance. I cannot imagine why you would present yourself at Vernon Hill in that." Baker emphasized her last word with a look so full of scorn Flora could hardly keep from laughing. She felt sorry for the poor woman who, all her life, had been trapped in the chains of her obdurate homage of propriety. But am I any different? Flora asked herself, not wanting to delve too deeply into her own motivations in order to come up with a truthful answer.

  As Flora stepped onto the portico, a coach pulled by four cantering horses came rolling up the circular driveway. Whip in hand, riding solo in the box, Lord Lynd brought the conveyance to a smart halt directly in front of her, the horses snorting, tossing their heads, as if in anticipation of another fine, exhilarating day on the road.

  "Good morning, sir," she called. "You didn't forget, did you?"

  "I do not forget such things, madam," Lord Lynd answered, a trace of laughter in his voice. As he climbed down from the box, Louisa leaned out the window from inside the coach and greeted her. "I'm not into four-in-hand, so I'm mostly here for the drive," she explained, “and since you care about what's proper, I'm also your chaperone."

  Intent on his lecture on four-in-hand, Lynd ignored his sister and addressed Flora, his expression serious. "First, you must realize driving a coach and four is not a matter of simply holding the reins and looking stylish."

  "I never thought such a thing." She was trying to stifle her excitement and look properly solemn.

  Lynd continued in his serious mode. "Before horses can be driven satisfactorily, they must be properly put together. To this end, anyone who aspires to be a coachman needs a practical knowledge of his...er, excuse me, her team which must be harnessed and 'put to coach' as they say. There are so many things to remember. You must check that the pole chains aren't too slack because if the pace is fast, there's a tendency to make the coach rock. You must make sure the load is proportioned to the power of the team, else the team cannot go as easily. And also—"

  At his abrupt halt, Flora, who had been listening intently, inquired, "Why are you stopping? Have you given up? Do you think I don't understand?"

  Lynd's lips twisted into a lopsided grin. "I have never before taught a woman how to drive a coach and four. I find it a rather...shall we say, unique experience."

  She jammed her hands on her hips. "You think I cannot?"

  "On the contrary. I do believe I was picturing the look on your parents' faces when they discover I've taught you four-in-hand. I doubt they'd approve."

  "Of course they wouldn't, but aren't I married now? And out from under their control? I trust you won't let my parents stop you. Besides, Lord Dinsmore thinks it's a fine idea, and you know how Mama and Papa worship him. In their eyes, he can do no wrong."

  "In that case, enough of the lecture on practical things for now." Lynd extended his hand. "Shall we be off? Later, you'll be learning how to hitch the team. That is, if you're still interested. When all is said and done, the best way you can learn the art of driving is to sit beside me on the box seat and watch my hands."

  Flora had never ridden on the top of a coach. Always before, she'd been safely ensconced inside, where a lady ought to be, came a faint echo from her mother.

  But now was not the time to think of her strict upbringing. Now was the time to...

  She raised her eyes to the coachman's box and concealed a worried frown. How do I get up there?

  Lord Lynd appeared to sense her dilemma. "Shall I help you up?" His gaze dropped to her skirt. "At least you're wearing a wide skirt. That will have to do, I suppose, although I've always thought it a pity women cannot wear breeches like we men do."

  Well, she wasn't wearing breeches and likely never would, so there was no sense even commenting. In fact, if ever there was a time when she didn't want to appear the helpless female, this was it. "I don't need help. You go first."

  He didn't argue—one of the things she liked about him—but instead placed his right foot on the right side of the front axle and reached up to grasp the boot. He swung with ease up to a small step attached to the side, then a higher step, then into the box. "Sure you can manage?" he asked, peering down at her.

  "Of course." Determined to ascend as swiftly and easily as he, she placed her right foot on the front axle, gripping her skirt to keep it from sliding up. She was forced to let go, though, when she gripped the footboard tightly and boosted herself a notch higher, placing her left foot on the first tiny step. A quick, overt glance over her shoulder convinced her that at least there were no servants around to gawk. She swung her right foot up to the next small step and from there slid smoothly onto the box to sat beside Lynd. "Ready," she announced in an off-hand manner, smoothing down her skirt which, to her annoyance, had traveled quite a distance higher than she had anticipated. But no matter. She refused to be embarrassed, even though Lynd must have viewed a considerable amount of leg. She was a married woman. Lord Lynd would not be interested in such
things.

  "So we're off, then," Lord Lynd announced. "Watch carefully. We shall circle through the village, then stop and you shall take the reins. We shall visit Vernon Hill on our way back."

  With a smart crack of the whip over the heads of the horses, they were off down the driveway. On the road, the horses burst into a canter, perfectly in step. It was as if the heavy coach behind them was but a feather at their heels.

  They drove through the nearby village at a pace so quick that Flora had to hang on tight to prevent herself from being precipitated into the street as the coach twisted around the sharp corner by a cheese monger's shop and turned into the marketplace.

  "Too fast for you?" Lynd called. There was a wild, excited gleam in his eye as he cast her a quick glance. "I can slow down if you like."

  "Don't you dare." Feeling totally exhilarated, loving the breeze blowing in her face, she called, "This is the best ride I've ever had."

  On the other side of the village, Lynd halted the coach and got it turned around. "Your turn." He placed the ribbons in her hands. "Remember, when you mount you hold the taut leads with your right hand. You must never put them down while you're driving. Now your left hand is free to take up the whip."

  "All right then." Flora took a deep breath, cracked the whip over the horses' heads and they were off. The team responded gallantly as the coach fairly flew down the road, she in command. Oh, what an exhilarating feeling! How mighty she felt knowing she had the team in hand. The milestones seemed to flash by until Lynd pointed toward a driveway ahead and shouted, "We're coming to Vernon Hill, pull to the right."

  She did so, and the coach turned down the long driveway at a fast pace. As they approached a pillared portico, she felt a moment of panic and called, "How do I stop?"

  "Pull," Lynd calmly declared, pointing to the ribbons. She pulled. Horses snorting, dust flying, they came to a stop so quickly she was brought half out of her seat. In complete exhilaration, she fell back laughing, aware, not caring, that her hat was dangling by its ribbons down her back and her hair, blown awry by the breeze, must look a fright.

  "That was marvelous, Lord Lynd " she said.

  Lynd regarded her with calm amusement. "Call me Sidney. We don't stand for formality at Vernon Hill."

  "Indeed we do not," called Louisa as she climbed out of the coach. "Very nicely done, Flora."

  "Indeed," said Lord Lynd. "I must say, you have handed me a surprise."

  She looked down her nose at him, feigning great disdain. "And what surprise is that?"

  "I think you know. Suffice to say, it's not every day I see a lady such as you driving a great coach such as this. How daring." His eyes glowed with admiration. "How extraordinary. Even my devil-may-care sister has never attempted such a thing."

  "I am only just beginning to learn, thanks to you," she answered modestly, pleased, nonetheless.

  Lynd scrambled across her and down the side of the coach with catlike ease. Once on the ground, he turned and reached his arms to her. "Come, I'll help you down."

  Thank goodness. She had never been overly concerned about modesty, but with Lynd closely watching, she was keenly aware her descent down those tiny steps from the top of the coach, especially in a skirt, was full of peril. Without hesitation, she allowed herself to fall, fully trusting, into Lynd's arms. She could feel his strength as he caught her, lifted her down. She felt a disappointment when he placed her gently on the ground and let her go.

  Once inside, Flora was impressed by the beauty of Vernon Hill, a house of Elizabethan origin, built, Louisa explained, in 1562. It was not nearly as large as Pemberly Manor, but, she noted, much better kept. Lord Lynd, at his gracious best, appeared genuinely delighted to have her as his guest.

  At tea, the three indulged in lighthearted chatter, discussing the wedding and wedding guests—the cost of horses—tenants and crops—how much wheat they expected from this year's harvest.

  Flora enjoyed herself immensely, except for one unsettling observation: neither Lord Lynd or Louisa made mention of Lord Dashwood.

  Not one single word. And here she'd looked forward to hearing news of him, but they avoided the subject. Still, she found it hard to believe they could both refrain from talking of Richard. He was Dinsmore's heir, was he not? And Lynd's best friend...or was he? Childhood friends, anyway. But why wouldn't Lord Lynd at least mention Dashwood in their conversation?

  She, in turn, would not dream of mentioning Richard's name, lest she give herself away. She must remain patient. Surely sooner or later someone would bring up the name of Dinsmore's one-and-only heir. She'd heard no news of him since the day he jilted her. Her own family had assiduously avoided the subject. Meanwhile, disquieting thoughts crowded her mind. Not only was she concerned for Richard's welfare, her curiosity was intense. What was he doing? Was he still in the city? She was dying to know.

  At the end of her visit, Louisa said her warm goodbyes and went upstairs, and Flora, finding herself alone in the grand entry hall with Lord Lynd, realized now was her chance. Despite her better judgement, despite the risk of Lynd's eyebrow raising in that cynical, mocking little way, she took a deep breath and asked, "And what of Lord Dashwood? Have you seen him lately?"

  A casual observer would not have noticed any change in the pleasantly arranged features of her host's face, but Flora, being close and facing him squarely, detected an extra fast blink of his eyelids accompanied by the barely discernible twitch of a cheek muscle.

  "Lord Dashwood is doing splendidly," Lord Lynd replied in a velvet-edged voice that failed to conceal his pique.

  She knew she should let the matter drop, but curiosity drove her on. "Did he marry the Countess de Clairmont?"

  "Not to my knowledge. It appears the countess is peddling her assets in other, more lucrative markets."

  Dashwood was still single. She felt a warm glow flow through her and could not help her sigh of relief and sudden smile. "Oh, really?" She had tried to sound disinterested but knew she hadn't fooled him.

  Lynd regarded her a moment, his expression unperturbed. Thus she was startled when suddenly he burst, "What in the name of the devil's backside are you doing?"

  She flinched but recovered quickly. "I have no idea what you mean."

  "Oh, yes you do." He glowered at her. "You still love that scapegrace, don't you?"

  He was hovering over her, suddenly so big, dark and menacing she was tempted to step backward but held her ground. "He's not a scapegrace."

  "You're avoiding the issue. Damme." Lynd rolled his eyes upward in frustration. "I am completely dumbfounded that you, married to one of the finest men on earth, would deign to spend so much as a passing thought upon that selfish, conceited—"

  "You have already called him a scapegrace," she hotly interrupted. "Isn't that enough? I thought he was your friend."

  "Friend, yes, but that doesn't mean..." Lynd bit his lip in irritation. "My friendship with Richard has nothing to do with the fact he should be dragged through the horse pond for jilting you."

  "You let me worry about that," she retorted, not attempting to conceal her anger. "Can't you see you're wrong about Lord Dashwood? He did not jilt me. I am not sure why he failed to ask Papa for my hand, but he must have had his reasons."

  "I shall sum up all his reasons for you in one short word— Greed! Are you so blinded by love you cannot see?"

  "All I can see is that Lord Dashwood is noble, honorable, and pure-hearted in every way, whereas you, sir, are a cad."

  He stared at her in amazement. "I'm the cad?"

  "Yes, because you are saying such beastly things."

  Lynd started to answer, stopped himself, and threw up his hands. "What are we doing?" he asked softly, "I am only trying to tell you that I worry you'll—"

  "I'll what?" she asked sharply, "that I'll forget my marriage vows and run off with Lord Dashwood?"

  "If you want the truth, yes."

  "That won't happen. If you knew me well enough, you would know I'd never do a thing
so dishonorable. I shall always hold to my marriage vows, but that doesn't keep me from—" she looked around the entry way, making sure they were alone "—loving Lord Dashwood until the day I die."

  "Ha!" retorted Lynd, all softness gone from his voice again. "And what happens when Richard comes visiting, which he will, you know, sooner or later. How will you resist, some night after your old, crippled husband retires, and there he is, your golden lover, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, eager to take you to his bed?"

  "He is too honorable ever to do such a thing."

  "Spare me. I know Richard, and I know what he'll try. And you will go, I know you will."

  "I will not," she retorted through gritted teeth, fighting to keep her voice down.

  "Oh, yes you will." Lord Lynd settled back on his heels, crossed his arms, and regarded her with total disgust. "Imagine, the Hero of Seedaseer cuckolded by a selfish, head-in-the-clouds, dim-witted female who's stupid enough to love a rake not worthy of her little finger."

  Flora stared at him a moment, so angry she had trouble untangling her words. "Lord Dinsmore will never be a cuckold. Even if he were, why should he care? We don't have that kind of a marriage."

  "What do you mean?" Lynd inquired, puzzled, his voice suddenly softer.

  "We are friends, that's all."

  "Friends," he scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Are you saying you two are not—?"

  "We most certainly are not."

  "You won't be having children?" He looked amazed.

  She answered in a scathing voice, "I may be young, sir, and inexperienced, but I am aware what causes babies, so no, I won't be having any. I repeat, Lord Dinsmore and I are just good friends and intend to stay that way."

  "The coach is ready, sir," called a stable boy who had just poked his head through the front door.

  Flora swiveled quickly, turning her back to her host. "I cannot tell you how wrong you are," she called over her shoulder as she hastened toward the door. She knew her voice was shaking but she didn't care. "I shall never break my marriage vows, despite what you say."